Date: 2.8.04

Another Lazy Day Off

Journal 33

Day 40

Our second day off. We rested the dogs for another day. The temperature rose to above zero degrees Fahrenheit, forming a thick whiteout fog. It was a silent day. We had to restrict our walks, to within 100 yards of the camp, and even at this distance it was imperative to keep the tent within sight at all times. On this day off, after the resupply, I got the feeling that we were finally 100 per cent in expedition mode. We are a tiny society within ourselves, the six of us and our dogs. It is peaceful, and everyone has their own roles down.

It was a relaxing day with no cares, the dogs sleeping quietly, their stomachs full. I read and wrote and took a walk and talked with Eric. Later I met with Paul, and we went over the route for the week, and marked out waypoints on the map and entered them into the GPS. I went to bed early, enjoying the warm weather by sleeping with my head out of the sleeping bag.

This two day rest for the dogs, with food galore, got them in sassy spirits. Last night, rivals sneered and growled at each other, a sign that they have plenty of energy and will pull enthusiastically tomorrow. We plan to make it to Baker Lake, our next community, about 320 miles away, by the end of the month. We are in a good place now to begin that final push. With fresh dogs and high spirits, we are ready for whatever the Barrens has to dish out.

I must say, I am surprised by the mild weather we have had this last week. We never expected it, and I am quite thankful for it. We hope it stays, but tomorrow will tell.

Date: 2.9.04

GPS 101

Journal 34

Day 41

The weather remained unseasonable warm, with temperatures getting a few degrees above zero Fahrenheit. The morning brought light snow, calm, and a thick whiteout, with virtually no visibility. We had planned for this by setting up a number of waypoints on our GPS, about four to five miles apart. Since the GPS is such an important tool, I will spend a little bit of time explaining what it is and how we use it.

The US military developed the GPS (Global Positioning Satellites) system, and at the end of the Cold War this and many other technologies were released to the commercial market. The GPS began to appear in over-the-counter sales to consumers around 1992, and by 1995 were widely available. The handheld GPS that we use are about the size of a TV remote, and are powered by two to four AA batteries. Essentially, there are a number of very high GPS satellites (about 25,000 miles above the earth), which give off constant signals. The GPS picks up the signals from three to over a dozen satellites, and quickly computes location by triangulation. The more satellites, the more accurate the location, but even with three satellites it is possible to figure your exact position within a few yards. The GPS thus gives you your position, and with a map you can figure where you are at.

But just knowing your position doesn’t always help you navigate, especially in a whiteout. You can program you GPS for any location you want by what is called a waypoint, inserting its latitude and longitude in degrees, minutes and seconds. For example, presently we have waypoints A-M, marked with their positions. These can be prominent features, or in our case low valleys or small lakes, areas that would be good travel with little gain in elevation. Today when we started I pressed A, which gave me a bearing - east 93 degrees, distance 2.93 miles. We set our compass at 93 degrees, and kept our eye on it due to the whiteout and the lack of reference points like rocks and ridges to head for. We stayed on that path of 93 degrees. The GPS will give us our distance as we get close, and any variation of the bearing if we get off course.

In leading a dog team, we cannot always stay on a straight bearing, but we can keep it within one or two degrees on each side. Once we get within the vicinity of waypoint A, we then punch in the next waypoint. Yesterday we traveled in a series of connected waypoints. It would have been extremely difficult, if not impossible, to travel only by compass yesterday. I crossed the Barrens in the 1980’s with only compass and it was extremely challenging. I have also made the North Pole totally unsupported, using sextant only. And I traveled the Antarctic and Greenland before GPS was available. It is a tool that gives us many options, and allows us to travel in places that be otherwise impossible. In a sense it opens the door to some good country. I don’t see it as a compromise, but rather it enriches our travel.

For example, on the Arctic Ocean the ice is in constant motion, averaging 5-8 miles a day. When you are traveling on the surface there is no sense that the ice is moving, but with the GPS you can get an accurate read as to the speed and direction. It is a unique experience sitting in your tent during a storm and watching your distance and speed change as the ice is moving. Sometimes it is in your favor and you feel very good about things and you sleep well. Other times, you drift backward, and spend a few days making up the same distance.

On the GPS you can also mark your present position as a waypoint, and then you can refer to past positions. For example, I mark the position of our camp each night - this is camp number 41. I can then refer back to camp 40 to get our straight line distance between the two, or any other camp or any place in the world that I have referenced. It is a fascinating tool.

After our lunch break, the snow and fog lifted and vanished into the clear skies. We saw the flat and gentle terrain that we had been traveling on for the first time. With our heavy sleds we have been fortunate that the topography has smoothed out. The late afternoon was perfect going, very beautiful snowscape, with purple skies in the east blending deceptively into the snowy horizon. We made camp on the flat earth, and its sparse vegetation made good sleeping mats for the dogs.

Date: 2.10.04

Storm Day

Journal 35

Day 42

A little after midnight we got blasted by our first Barrenlands’ blizzard. The signs were all there in the sky yesterday. It was a warm day, minus 10?F at lunch, no winds, and a friction-free travel surface. Alto cumulus clouds came in, and even though it remained clear with excellent visibility, the clouds eventually dropped, touching the ground to places in the southeast.

Setting up camp was most pleasant, but the mackerel sky was most suspicious. We were lulled by ten days of perfect weather, and failed to place guy lines of the side of the tent. Our tents are shaped like a qwanzit-hut, and they resist wind from the longest axis. We line that axis up from southeast to northwest, because the storms come in from the southeast with the advancing warm air, and later shift to the northwest, as the cold arctic air delivers its punch. This leaves the northeast side of the tent vulnerable, but there are three guy lines that can be staked, which holds the tent during this wind shift. We have not be guying the tent out on this side because of our complacency, and last night we paid the price.

For some reason, the storm came from the northeast with powerful winds. Around 2 a.m. I felt the tent sagging on my side, the northeast side. Hugh was free able to get dressed and, with his headlight, was able to get the proper protection and get the tent straightened out. It took over half an hour, and luckily it was still fairly warm. At the 5:30 wake up time it was still blowing very hard. We waited until 7, and decided to put the travel day on hold until 10 a.m. At that time I went out to check things out, and it was obvious we would have to stay put that day.

I visited the other tents then, just barely visible 40 yards away. They had reoriented their tents to the northeast. It was an interesting evening and morning. You realize your vulnerability when your home is threatened out here. We do have some of the best expedition tents, proven worldwide. They are Hilleberg tents, made in Sweden, and distributed out of Seattle in the US. The problem last night was due to our complacency, for these tents are made for storms.

I also like the interior of the Hilleberg tent. It is a very comfortable environment, with a large separate vestibule to store gear, helping keep your living space from getting cluttered. The living space heats well, and there is room above to dry things out. Like any mountain tent, the living space is tight, because you cannot afford any extra space and height, because it adds to the weight and is less efficient in keeping warm. The Hilleberg is also the quickest tent to set up and take down I have ever had, and this is also a real plus.

The choice of the expedition tent is most important choice you will make. It is your security, and you can’t survive out here without a tent.

Date: 2.11.04

Killing Time

Jounal 36

Day 43

The first day of a storm passes relatively easily. It can be a blessing when traveling has been long and cold. Normally, we would travel ten days straight, and then take a day off. At the end of a ten day schedule, a day off with a storm would be welcome. In this schedule, we would normally count the storm day as the day off.

Our present schedule is less rigorous. We now take every Friday off, in order to post the educational material for PolarHusky.com that goes on line on Mondays. Regardless of the weather, we take Friday off, so we are basically on a six day on, one day off schedule. But the latest storm came just two days after we took a two day resupply rest for the dogs. The storm day was therefore not very welcome. But it was only one day to kill.

Storms can last a long time. The longest continual time I waited out was in early March on the Russian Arctic coast. It was the start of our attempt to cross the Arctic Ocean from Russian to Canada with dogs. And we got pounded by the most incredible north wind, which broke up the ice on the ocean, and pinned us down for nine days. It was very dangerous just to go outside of the tent. Fuel was short, so we spent most of the time in the sleeping bags, and the nights were long.

The main problem being storm bound is the moisture. The insulation of your sleeping bag turns clammy after a while, which eventually feels like sleeping in a cheese casserole. If it wasn’t for the moisture problem, killing time in storms would be comfortable. In Antarctica we were hit with a 56 day storm. The storm started in early September, and that month we were storm bound 16 days. At first we thought we could wait it out, that it would blow over, but it didn’t. We were then forced to travel in the storm, because our food and fuel were running low, and the only way to resupply was to reach the next food cache, which had been laid out the past summer.

I became an expert at killing time. Day one of a storm is no problem. It is day two when the tedium of time and moisture set in. By day three of a storm, motivation begins to vanish. There is nothing to do but contemplate your cold, damp situation, and try to sleep. Long storms dictate fuel rationing, which means most of your time is spent in the sleeping bag, listening to the wind. Early on when a storm hits, time is spent repairing things, sewing rips and fixing dog harnesses. Journal entries are long at first, but then dwindle as subject matter and motivation decline. I’ve spent long hours just watching the minute and second hand of my watch go around. Chores like cooking are done slowly and deliberately in order to stretch out the time.

When there is absolutely nothing to do, I find myself picking the fuzzies from Velcro surfaces. At this point, I am the definition of lethargy.

Killing time is part of an expedition. It is where I want to be when I am stressed out, raising money, and organizing the expedition. At that time, when I have 18 phone messages and 46 e-mails waiting, I think how sweet it would be to be storm bound. My thoughts, when storm bound, usually do not travel far. My mind is all “thought-out” by the seemingly infinite time of the travel day. Tired of sleeping, but lacking any inspiration, you pass time in the damp confines of your sleeping bag. It is the down side of an expedition. It can be pleasant and peaceful, but when a storm continues for days, I reach a state of suspended tedium that I could not reach any other way. Rest turns into over-rest, a condition that could not exist in the busy world. It is a worthwhile experience, once it is over.

Date: 2.12.04

Digging Out

Journal 37

Day 44

Bitter cold and high winds are typical travel weather the day after a storm. Storms are usually caused by an infusion of warm air, followed by a strong mass of cold air that descends into the warm. Typically, wind blows from the southeast when a storm advances. This is the warm, moist air moving up. The winds remain in this direction usually no more than 12 hours. As the cold air descends, the wind shifts, to the east and then northeast, and can become quite violent. The wind then moves to the north and northwest, and the temperature plummets. Often, the skies will clear, but the wind is so intense that all the snow that was dropped will be in the air. There is a saying, “The southeast drops it, the northwest blows it.” The strong northwest winds produce tremendous wind chills. 100 degrees below Fahrenheit is typical for a Barrenlands’ blizzard.

The first travel day after a storm is decided on visibility more than anything else. On flat terrain, 100 yard visibility is more than enough to travel in. Getting out of the tent the first day after a storm is bittersweet. A part of you cannot stand another minute within the cold, damp, dripping walls, but a lethargic spirit has taken hold of your motivation. The decision is made, so things are packed up inside the tent, and the first moment you exit into the cold is a sobering one. Dampness permeates your clothing to the bone from the long wait in the tent, and that first 30 mph gust at 30 below drives in a chill. Then you start moving and the blood begins to circulate and the body gets warms.

Large drifts cover everything. Often the sled is covered to the handlebars and the tent is drifted over. On such mornings, I often think about people in my hometown of Minneapolis complaining about shoveling snow. In Antarctica, we routinely dug for two hours each morning. It only takes one storm to learn to put things away, and coil up all dog lines.

Depending on the intensity of the storm, the snow can pack almost hard as concrete, so that it has to be chipped away. Most mornings, during the storms in Antarctica, the surfaces were like this. Once, I left a 20-foot lashing line out. It took over an hour to chip it out, as I followed its snaking route.

Shoveling, shoveling, shoveling occupies your time once you get out of your tent after a storm. It warms us, and is not a bad job. But it is time consuming, and cuts into our travel. The dogs are often not in sight when we exit the tent. The coil up with their busy tails around their noses, and let the snow cover them like a down blanket. They stay very warm under the snow. Some will pop up when they hear our footsteps, while others remain sleeping. At harness time, the ones still under the snow smell warm and moist, the wet doggy smell of warm sleep.

Once the digging out process is over, we lash the load and harness the dogs. It all takes longer than the usual morning, and traveling through the deep snow takes added energy. Normally there would be blue sky above, the wind would be blowing snow, and the windchill could be 100 degrees below zero Fahrenheit, or colder. But it is such a pleasure to finally get moving again. The thought of spending another day in the tent is unbearable, as we ski off with the dogs, who are happy to be pulling again.

Date: 2.13.04

Mid-Winter Day in the Barrens

Journal 38

Day 45

Wind is a synonymous as the cold with the Barrenlands in the winter. There is rarely any separating wind and cold in our daily travels. We did get a break of good weather and little wind, something we never thought possible on the Barrens at this time of year. But the wind is back, along with the cold.

The wind snaps the tent all night, permeating our dreams. Last night I hear Hugh calling out commands to the dogs in his sleep, encouraging them as he drove up an imaginary hill, made real by the gusts rattling the tent wall. The first chore in the morning is lighting the stove, and by this I know the temperature right away. The fuel can be grudgingly stubborn to light. Coleman fuel, explosive at room temperature, only lights at 30 below Fahrenheit with a lot of coaxing from the match. At 40 below, a typical morning, it takes two or three matches to heat the fuel enough to nudge it into flame.

There isn’t such a thing as normal conversation on these mornings. You have to speak loudly or shout to be heard inside of our nylon drum. Often, we don’t speak, except for important things. We simply allow our shaking, coughing tent to have its way. The wind greets us as we crawl out of the tent in the morning, and begin hauling bags to the sleds and begin the lashing process. The movement gets the blood flowing, and for the next 9-10 hours it is only exertion that keeps us warm and comfortable. To stop is to be cold, and with windchills in the minus 80 degrees Fahrenheit range even minor delays are painful.

Keeping warm, however, is simple. There is an expression, “If your feet are cold, put on a hat.” This is quite true. Our fingers are the most vulnerable part of our body, and whenever my fingers are numb I need to really move around and get blood pumping to these extremities. Whirling my arms around only draws cold air into my clothing. Seldom do we have to run in circles, for our entire day is based on motion. I can get frozen fingers lashing the sled, but the next chore, harnessing the dogs, can cause me to overheat. As long as there are not many unexpected delays during the day, we stay quite warm.

Yesterday, because of the rocky terrain and deep snow, there were many delays. It was a cold day. I navigated on the lead sled with Paul and a number of times we got too far ahead and paid the price. The price is not that great, however, just some physical discomfort. I count my blessings by being appreciative of creature comforts. At most, we have to stomp around in circles, watching the blowing, drifting snow swirl by.

A silhouette appears to the west, swept by the snow. It is one of the sleds, and then two people outlined in dark. Then the other sled appears. After five minutes or so we are reunited, and ready to move again. It is the greatest pleasure to move again after such a wait. We usually travel on skis, and the gliding motion is like flying.

Most of this time in the wind and cold I am comfortable and at home, taking in this land and its hostile beauty. When the end of the day rolls around I am often not ready to stop and be confined in the tent again. But in mid-February, it is dark at five o’clock.

Hugh does the outside jobs of staking out the dogs and putting things away, while I do the inside chores of setting up the tent and getting things ready for the night. The biggest change in the day occurs when I haul my things inside the tent. There is no wind inside, and often I pause for a moment to feel the effects of shelter. It is frigid inside, but no wind. Now the sound of wind and nylon and guylines sing to me again, a constant backdrop while inside. It is often peaceful, though at times I wish it was silent.

Date: 2.14.04

Frosty and Damp in the Tent

Journal 39

Day 46

During storms, I listen to the wind rattling the stiff nylon walls of the tent. At night, with no heat from the stove, frost collects on the entire interior, especially during these storms of 40 degrees below zero Fahrenheit, making the nylon less pliable. At times, frost will shower down on our faces. This is startling at first, but you get used to it, so it no longer wakes you up.

I listened for a lull in the storm that might indicate we could travel the next day, and escape this confinement. Dampness is starting to take a toll on the insulation of my sleeping bag. The cold is now starting to penetrate. It creeps in around the shoulders and the hips. It is just a slight coolness now - tolerable - and it doesn’t keep me up much.

We still have plenty of dog food, but if we sit out another day day or two, we will have to watch fuel consumption. It is very cold outside.